His hands slide over my back, my sides, settling on my hips—and when he pulls me against him, the hard pressure there makes my breath hitch sharply. The friction is sharp and bright and unfamiliar, lighting me up in places I’ve never touched like this before.
Pleasure hits fast and startling, stealing the air from my lungs. My body reacts like it’s been waiting for this, like it knows something I don’t.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
I only know I want more.
Now, his hands are everywhere. Sliding up my back, down my sides, gripping my hips to grind me down against thehard length of him. The friction is exquisite, maddening. A bolt of pure pleasure shoots through me.
I rock against him, seeking more. He groans, his mouth leaving mine to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down my throat.
“West,” I gasp.
“More?” he growls against my skin.
“Yes. Oh, yes.”
This time there's no hesitation. His tongue slides against mine, deep and sure. My hands fist in his shirt. My hips roll forward on pure instinct, and—
The seam of my shorts rubs against my pussy with every movement, every desperate grind. Pleasure coils tight and hot low in my belly. I’m panting, clutching his shoulders one moment, and in his hair the next, lost in the feel of him, the taste of him, the overwhelming rightness of his hands on my body.
I roll my hips again, chasing the friction.
His grip tightens, guiding the movement, and the pressure is perfect and not nearly enough. I'm gasping into his mouth, grinding and bouncing down against him, and he's groaning like I'm destroying him.
"This isn't—" he starts.
"I know."
"We're supposed to be—"
"I know."
But neither of us stops.
His hands slide down to cup my ass, lifting me slightly, helping me find the perfect angle. I ride the hard ridge of his erection through our clothes, the friction building, building…and I'm climbing toward something I've only read about in very detailed blog posts.
This is insane. This was supposed to be a lesson. But his tongue is doing things that should require a license, and my hips have apparently taken a graduate course in biomechanics because they know exactly how to move.
"That's—" His voice breaks.
I rock again, harder this time, and he makes a sound like I just stepped on his chest.
"Good?" I manage between gasps.
"Devastating."
His hips thrust up to meet mine and—oh holy—the anglechanges and suddenly there's pressure exactly where I need it. Right there. Right against the seam of my shorts where everything is hot and aching and—
"Oh—" The sound escapes before I can stop it.
"Again," he rasps. "Do that again."
So I do.
And again.
And again.
